Lydia said, staring out the window at the busy avenue. “All I know is, it isn’t me.”
“I don’t care,” Anthony said. “Winning would be great, but I got something worth more than a lousy thirty-five million.”
Lydia looked back at him, and he winked at her. She threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward. “You’re worth a hundred million,” she mumbled, kissing his mouth.
“You’re worth a million million.”
She pushed him against the counter, grabbed the back of his head and kissed him even more deeply.
“Guys, seriously,” Acey said, “take it to the back. People are coming in.”
The lovers stumbled together toward the restrooms, pressed together and running their hands all over each other. Acey fanned herself with one hand.
It had been so long since she’d had any kind of feeling for any man. Charlie had been the last, and after the way he and his family had treated her, it was easy to never want to have those feelings again. In fact, the first time she’d since felt any real stirrings was today, with that cowboy. And those had been the most genuine stirrings she’d ever felt. Too bad she hadn’t had time to do some more flirting. Well, he lived in the neighborhood now. She was sure fate would put him in her path again.
Acey stepped up to the counter and cut slices to order from the ready-made pies. But she took a second to peer once more at Romeo and Juliet in the back, and she knew that she, too, would rather have someone to love than a million million.
When Steve showed up to relieve Acey at seven, she scrunched up her greasy apron, tossed it in the employees’ coatroom and, with one wave over her shoulder, strolled out of Focaccia’s. Usually the walk home took her fifteen minutes, but today she was detouring around the corner.
Right through Bread and Milk.
Her week-old curiosity had nearly killed her, but now it was time for action.
Acey peeled off her denim jacket as she walked. The last couple of days had been unseasonably chilly and rainy, but now that June was here, it seemed the weather had decided to cooperate with the calendar.
She turned a corner, stopped and regarded Bread and Milk from across the street. There were haphazard signs in the window for sales and specials, and one was misspelled. “Corn mufins, 75 cents.” It wasn’t unusual, but this neighborhood didn’t care. Rosalia’s store was open from six in the morning until eleven at night, and Rosalia herself was almost always in the store.
Bread and Milk seemed to sparkle a bit now that it had sold the winning lottery ticket. Acey crossed the street. The door was propped open and no one was behind the counter. Acey wandered over to the refrigerator case and grabbed a carton of orange juice. Rosalia came out from her stockroom, hauling a box that had to be twice as heavy as she was.
“Hi!” Acey cried, putting the orange juice on the front counter and rushing over to take the box from her friend.
“Oh, Acey, don’t do that,” Rosalia scolded, but Acey ignored her and took the box, straining to hold it straight.
“Where does this go?”
“By the register there. You’re so sweet.”
“No problem,” Acey said. She dropped the box where Rosalia had indicated—really dropped, when it slipped out of her fingers—but she didn’t hear anything break. She turned to Rosalia and flexed a bicep. “Strong, huh? Check that out.”
Rosalia laughed. “Stronger than my boys. Wish you worked here and not my no-good bums.”
“I’d love to work here,” Acey said, and it was true. It was a friendly store, where everyone said hello and made small talk, and it was a thousand times quieter, without the soap operas that went on at Focaccia’s.
Rosalia put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Rosalia had a way about her, a way of carrying herself that made Acey ashamed of her own slumping. Rosalia was at least five foot ten, and walked with the book-balancing poise of a Miss Colombia. Her still-long hair was graying with middle age, but it looked so fashionable on her that Acey was sure she inspired other approaching-senior-age female customers to follow suit. Her clothes were nondescript sweatshirts and jeans, but Acey thought that even if she dressed in the trendiest fashions, no one would notice them once she flashed her always-lipsticked smile.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Acey.”
“Oh, but I’ve seen you! On TV, eh?”
Rosalia tried to appear nonchalant, but her grin was an easy giveaway. “Just lucky. Really. You won’t believe how lucky.”
“Sure I’d believe it. The store gets a nice cut, right?”
“I’ll get what’s coming to me, yes.” Rosalia moved to the other side of the counter and rang up the juice.
Acey slid the top half of her body across the counter with her money and lowered her voice. “Tell me. Do you know who it is? Who won?”
“No one knows, huh?”
“No, not officially, but…” A man plopped two rolls of toilet paper on the counter and asked for cigarettes. Acey stepped aside until his purchases were bagged and he was on his way. Then she leaned in again. “You must have some idea who won, Rosalia.”
“Why you say that?”
“Because you know just about every single customer by name around here. Did someone tell you? Tell me. I’ll keep it a secret, I swear.”
“I bet.”
“I will!” Acey protested, but Rosalia’s eyes were sparkling. “Come on. Spill it.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you. Still a mystery.”
With one last scrutinizing gaze at Rosalia’s face to see if she was holding out, Acey slumped her shoulders. “I was so certain you’d know.”
“I am surprised, it’s true,” Rosalia said, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. “If someone win, I think they would come in here and be—” she waved her arms around “—woooo…”
“Exactly. But no?”
“No. It is a mystery,” Rosalia repeated.
Acey picked up her plastic bag. “Oh, well. I guess I’ll just keep wondering.”
She took one step toward the door and was about to say goodbye when Rosalia said quietly, “But.”
Acey whirled around.
“I am thinking someone.”
Acey rushed back and dropped her bag on the floor. “Aha! You do have a suspect!”
“I know nothing,” Rosalia said in a stern mother’s voice. “I am only thinking.”
Acey circled her hand in an impatient “go on” gesture.
“There
